“What would you like, young sir?”
“A bit of everything, please,” I replied.
Eyepatch added fruit to the top of my porridge then added a spoon that looked like it had been carved out of a coconut husk. “When you’ve finished, leave the scoop inside the shell, and the enchantment will send it to the compost.”
A cheer broke out from within the arena. The trial was probably about to start soon. I couldn’t wait to hear if King Magnar would talk his way out of his current predicament. I took my porridge and thanked Eyepatch.
By the time I found my friends, the trial was ready to start. Niger sat at the end of the row and had saved a seat between himself and Stafford. Warriors rolled out the pilloried prisoners’ wooden podium to the sounds of booing and jeering.
I lowered myself into the space next to Niger. “This feels like a drogott match.”
He stretched out his arm around my back, letting me lean into his side. “After what those wretches put us through, we deserve the entertainment.”
With a nod, I took a massive spoonful of creamy, coconut porridge and hummed my appreciation. Moments later, Niger drew back.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“The Prince Regent.”
I lifted my head and met Father and Master Fosco’s glares. Master Fosco was probably giving Father a run-down on all the rules I had broken since arriving at Mount Fornax. I met their stares with a level gaze. Hopefully, Aunt Cendrilla would return from Elphame, and the pair would return to hating each other again.
“Right.” I pulled away and shoveled porridge into my mouth.
The Magistratus stood. “Having heard the guilty verdict of the Council of Dragons, it is my solemn duty to pass sentencing.”
A hush spread across the crowd like the quiet before a sandstorm. My heart pounded with anticipation, and I stared up at the royal box. Master Fosco leaned forward, rubbing his hands. He still hadn’t changed his mind about burning the trio to death, and it looked like he would dish out the sentence if given the chance.
The speaking horn amplified the old ogre’s words across the stadium. “Henri Bacon, Favian Albertus, you are citizens of the United Kingdom of Seven and the Savannah Empire, aged thirty-seven and forty-eight respectively.”
“I did not know humans aged so badly,” muttered Niger.
I shrugged. The Noble House of Griffon most likely didn’t keep many human serfs. Mr. Bacon and the librarian looked fit and healthy for humans of their ages, especially the latter who had lived a very comfortable decade and a half here in Mount Fornax.
“Having presided over your trial, I am sure of the following facts. Albertus, you arrived at Mount Fornax fifteen years ago on the behest of King Calder, who wished to spy on the dragons with a view to one day ruling over them.”
“I was only doing my duty!” shouted the librarian.
“Silence!” roared the Magistratus.
I stiffened, and even Niger startled beside me. Stafford, who sat at my other side, didn’t react. Hopefully, he would cheer up once we all got together and shared our ideas for rescuing Evolene.
“Favian Albertus, you spent your years in Mount Fornax serving in the library and in your free hours producing an army of homunculi to one day rise and enact your plan to enslave every living being in Mount Fornax. When an inexperienced boy and his spriggans usurped Savannah, you recruited Henri Bacon to assist you in freeing your country.”
The librarian stood as proud as one could when bent over in a pillory. Mr. Bacon bowed his head, probably regretting having left Tundra.
“Henri Bacon, you arrived in Mount Fornax a fortnight ago under the guise of delivering much-needed livestock in the form of largomorphus rex. Livestock that you dosed with a loyalty elixir produced by stealing samples of blood from a duel!”
I punched my fist into my palm. That was where they took King Magnar’s blood to produce their first batch of elixir.
“When King Magnar returned, having lost Savannah to enemies, the two of you accelerated your plans. Bacon arrived with the doctored largomorphus rex, and Albertus soaked the dragon masters’ daily briefing papers with the elixir.”
“Is that how they did it?” Niger muttered.
“Yes, and they poisoned the barbacoa meat, bloodwurst sausage, and the witches’ apple compote.”
He shook his head. “They deserve to get flamed.”
I folded my arms across my chest and nodded. It was the only suitable punishment, as they were lifetime criminals who hurt people and didn’t care about the consequences. Mr. Bacon had tried to steal my magic and life-force when I was just seven, and he tried to do so again in the burning hut. If he was allowed to go free, he would only return to do the same.
The Magistratus continued summarizing their crimes, including the attack that nearly killed General Thornicroft and all the damage they had made to the mountain by constructing secret hideouts with their stolen magic. He didn’t mention me by name, but he talked about Mr. Bacon’s using an extricator on a cadet. Niger gave me a discreet and comforting squeeze, and I leaned into his side a little.
“Neither of you has any regard for the consequences of your actions, and the only regret you have shown was for getting caught, which has resulted in you being brought to justice before this court. Given the severity and premeditation of your crimes, neither of you has any prospect for rehabilitation.”
“Exactly,” I snarled.
“Too right!” muttered Niger.
The Magistratus paused. “I hereby sentence you to death by dragon fire.”
Cheers and applause broke out across the stadium, drowning out the cries and moans of Mr. Bacon and the librarian.
As the sounds died down, the Witch General stood. “The condemned men both contain magic stolen from witches. May we extract some of it before their sentence?”
“Very well,” said the Magistratus.
“No,” shouted Master Fosco. “They die today!”
Boos filled the air, accompanied by disgruntled snarls from the dragon tiers. I glanced around at the furious warriors and grimaced. Couldn’t they consider those whose magic and life-force had been drained to give the alchemists power they didn’t deserve? If the Magical Militia’s wards could use it, then at least one positive thing might have arisen from the poor witches’ deaths.
The Witch General raised her staff and lowered the volume of everyone’s outbursts so we could hear what the Magistratus would say next.
“Henri Bacon and Favian Albertus. I hereby suspend your death sentence until the witches have retrieved their magic.”
The Witch General inclined her head. “I will return them to you with enough life left to suffer their punishment.”
“Wait!” cried the librarian. “We can help you defeat the spriggans. They will attack soon, I have no doubt about that.”
The Magistratus turned to Father. “Prince Regent, the duty falls upon you to inform the realm of the fairies of the upcoming threat. This is their problem and not ours. The court is adjourned for today, and sentencing will take place for King Magnar on the morrow.”
Chapter 12
I raised my brows at the Magistratus’ declaration. He had approved many wars over the centuries, including two against the fairies. Perhaps he was old enough to have spoken to ogres who remembered what things were like when the Forgotten King ruled Vanheim.
Father stood and headed for the exit of the royal box, presumably to venture out of the wards and speak to the fairies.
I nudged Niger in the side. “I want to say goodbye to the Prince Regent.”
He gave me a stare so hard, I felt my stomach drop. “You think you will not survive the venture?”
“No! It’s nothing like that.” The words tumbled out of my mouth. “I just wanted to see him.”
Niger nodded and pulled his arm out from around my back. I stood and made my way down the rows of seats and out of the arena.
Tuning out the boos, I focused on my bond. “Hey, Fyri
?”
“Yes?”
“Who were you talking to earlier?” I asked.
“A friend.”
“What’s his name?”
Fyrian didn’t respond for several moments. I reached an archway and rushed through the curved vestibule where the scent of fried meat lingered from breakfast.
“Fyri, why are you being so secretive?”
“He doesn’t want anyone to know we’ve been talking,” she replied.
“Why not?”
“He’ll get into trouble.”
I ground my teeth and continued jogging. “Are you planning something with him?”
“No.” The reply was far too quick to be true.
“Fyri, do I keep secrets from you?”
She sent me a mental shrug. “No, but to be honest, your secrets don’t really affect dragons.”
I stepped out of the exit into the late morning and inhaled, trying to stay calm. The air was drier than usual, with a thin covering of clouds in the sky. Black, winged vehicles stood a few feet away with witches in the drivers’ seats, ready to transport cadets back to the reception area.
A sweat broke out across my brow, and my chest tightened. Fyrian made no sense. Her loyalty should be to me, not some dark-haired warrior who was sneaking into her stall for clandestine chats. I squinted against the glare of the sun and cast my mind back to what I had seen. The male wasn’t a warrior. He had worn a brown cadets’ uniform.
Even though I wouldn’t get an answer, I had to say something. “Are you saying that this man has a secret that will affect the warriors of Mount Fornax?”
“Not exactly.”
“Will anyone get hurt?”
Fyrian paused for several heartbeats. “No.”
“Will anyone get into trouble?”
“Him, if I spill his secret.”
My feet stumbled over a hard bit of sandstone sticking out of the ground, and I splayed my hands out for balance. “Fyri!”
“I promised not to tell,” she howled into our bond. “Please, don’t make a liar out of me!”
“Fine,” I snapped. “But if something bad happens because you kept a secret from me, I won’t let you hear the last of it.”
“That’s fine with me,” she snapped back.
“Good!” At the sight of Father’s carriage waiting outside the entrance to the royal box, I slowed my steps.
Fyrian let out a smoky huff, which I tried my best to ignore. What was she planning with this male? Who in the Known World could he be? It couldn’t have been Muti or any of the riders. They were half-ogres. This dark-haired male had a more slender build, like Stafford’s. Besides, all these males had been in the reception courtyard at the time I’d tried to spy on her conversation. It couldn’t have been any of them.
The guards outside the entrance to the royal box opened the door to let Father out. With a nod of thanks, he strode through the red carpet and canopy that led to the carriage.
“Your Highness!” I raised my arm.
Father turned. It took him a blink of an eye to recognize me, then he grinned and beckoned me over. I picked up my pace and jogged to catch up.
The door swung open, releasing a gust of magically cooled air. Instead of the usual fresh scent of orange blossom, the royal carriage was filled with the warm scent of camphor wood. I stepped into its expanded interior, taking in the majestic, lavender silk fabric on the walls, mulberry carpets, and plush mauve seat topped with violet cushions.
Father guided me to the seat and pressed a large hand on my shoulder, making me sit. He lowered himself next to me and studied my magically altered face. “You are very friendly with that Griffon boy. Is he your classmate?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I had to breathe hard to stave off a fully formed flush. “Which one?”
“The boy who is always at your side with the same color eyes as your mother.”
I paused, pretending to think about it. “Oh, Niger.” Father kept silent, his gaze unwavering. Willing my mind to empty itself, so nothing would show on my face, I said, “Rufus is the one in my class, but I’m friends with all the Griffon brothers via the drogott team. And I met Albens recently. Did you know he perfected a way to attack from seven places at one time with his purple dragon?”
Father grunted. “Great warriors, that family.”
I exhaled a sigh of relief. Babbling about all the other brothers had worked as a distraction for now.
The carriage’s wings unfolded and spread before the vehicle took to the skies. We traveled above the drylands surrounding the arena, and past a little settlement of single-story stone buildings surrounded by peculiar trees whose roots crawled across the grounds like giant snakes. Father didn’t speak but cast me furtive looks as though he hadn’t yet gotten used to my new disguise. Now that I had him to myself, it was time to ask a few questions.
“Father?”
“Hmm?”
“Why didn’t anyone ever tell me about Master Fosco?”
“What do you mean?” he snarled.
“He’s Fogo.”
“Fosco.”
“You know what I mean.”
He fixed me with a glare that lasted longer than usual then said, “If you had informed me of your change in career, I might have warned you.”
Now would have been the perfect time to bring up the betrothal that had brought nothing but mayhem and misfortune into my life, but the warning in his eyes was enough to hold my tongue. I didn’t feel like arguing with Father when the thought of Fyrian’s secret friend made my blood simmer. Who was he, and was he trying to bond with my dragon? The only males I could think of who might be able to steal Fyrian away from me were in the United Kingdom of Seven, and I couldn’t see either of them donning a disguise to become a dragon warrior.
A faint pressure against my skin indicated that we had passed the wards.
Father let out a long breath. “The dragons do not like to appear in human form outside Mount Fornax.”
My head snapped up. “Why not?”
“They are more vulnerable. The few known to ogre society were key players in the Great Dragon Revolution. Some rogue elements believe that killing them will destroy the stronghold of Mount Fornax and therefore the House of Suidae’s claim to the throne.”
“Oh. I thought Aunt Cendrilla had wiped out all her major opponents.”
Father shook his head. “Many Noble Houses object to the reformations she made to ogre society. They dare not rebel due to her immense power and association with the dragons.”
The carriage landed on a patch of drylands between two tall umbrel trees. Father folded his arms. “Vanus.”
I straightened, awaiting the arrival of the most handsome, silver-haired fairy in the Known World. After several moments, he didn’t pop into existence. I chewed the inside of my lip. Technically, fairies could hear their names whenever called, but they chose whether to come. He was either very busy or ignoring us.
“Vanus,” Father snarled. A vein on his temple pulsed. “I know you can hear me, you winged menace!”
Placing a hand on his bicep, I asked, “What if I called Chry—”
“Don’t!” Prince Vanus appeared in the carriage, palms outstretched. He wore a tunic and breeches of fine, white silk, with silver hair moving about his shoulders as though blown from a breeze. “The last time you summoned him, he became obsessed with dragons for days. Our realm is now infested with fire-breathing iguanas. They fly about, causing infernos wherever they strike!”
“Sorry.” I raised my shoulders. “I had no other way of contacting you.”
Father stood. “Next time, answer your summons.”
Prince Vanus’ silver wings made an irritated flutter. “As touching as I find this family reunion, what do you want?”
“We have news about the Forgotten King,” said Father.
Two armed, female fairies appeared on both sides of King Vanus, each with serrated wings, and each wielding scimitars twice the size of the Sword of Lightnin
g.
“What do you know?” asked the taller fairy.
Father’s hand twitched toward his sword belt, but he managed to stop himself. “The spriggans are awake and are actively seeking a way to revive their master.”
“By which means?” asked the shorter fairy.
I stepped forward. “They’re using the King of the Savannah Empire. One of them made a boon with him to save each of his six sisters in exchange for a favor.”
“What kind?” she asked.
I counted them off on my fingers. “Seizing control of Pampas, taking the Midas Islands, building something like Mount Fornax to raise dragons, and transporting dragon eggs out of Mount Fornax and into the facility.”
“And the other two?”
“T-they haven’t decided.” The lie slipped from my lips. King Magnar had told me the spriggans needed me for something. They had even tried to recruit me to their cause. I wouldn’t tell them this. Fairies could be ruthless, and it wouldn’t surprise me if one of them tried to strike me dead to prevent the rise of the Forgotten King.
The taller of the fairies flapped her serrated wings, releasing the scent of wildflowers. She placed her scimitar back on its belt. “If you hear anything new, contact His Majesty.”
Prince Vanus flipped his silver hair over his shoulder. “I’m not a messenger dragonet, you know.”
The fairies disappeared.
“But I haven’t finished,” I said. “The spriggan I met got killed by a sleeping dragon, and there are six left.”
Father leaned forward, brows furrowed. “Who were those females?”
“Her Majesty’s guards,” replied Prince Vanus.
“Send them to the Savannah Empire to cut the spriggans down. This is your fight, not ours.”
Prince Vanus sniffed. “I would have thought you’d have more interest in what’s going on beyond your borders.”
“No,” Father snapped. “Fetch an expert. The days when ogres fought the battles of winged cowards are over.”
Prince Vanus’ eyes narrowed. I stepped back toward the seat and out of range of a potential sword fight. Father did have a point. Mother once told me that mortal fairies like her were placed in the front line alongside the witches and ogres during the war against the Snow Queen. The immortal high fairies, who might have made a difference during these wars, remained in Elphame to protect their realm.
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